Sweetest Sorrow (Forbidden Book 2) (7 page)

He didn't sense fear in her, although she had to have riddled out by then what kind of man she was dealing with. Even stuck in that bed, Dante had heard the whispers, the staff out in the hallway talking about the thug in room twenty-two, tortured and almost killed by God-knows-who. But
whatever
, because he deserved it, right? Deserved it for being the kind of man who did the kind of things that invited those kinds of people into his life.

Nurse Russo, though, treated him like he was any other guy.

It felt almost like seeing a friend.

Dante looked away from her as the hope faded, his heart hardening just a little bit more. He tried to shift position in bed, to get comfortable, but nothing he did made much of a difference.

"It's the medication," the nurse said softly, watching him as he glared down at his feet, the sheet twitching as he willed the sons of bitches to move.

Dante's eyes shifted to her. "I don't like it."

His voice was scratchy and strained, the words painful. Side effect of having a tube crammed down your throat, he gathered. It was the first time he'd spoken in around her, and he could sense her surprise. Her dark eyes twinkled.

"Ah, so you're
not
mute."

Dante shook his head. "Just got nothing to say."

The nurse went back to doing whatever she'd come to do, pressing buttons on the machines, but she wasn't done with the conversation. "I can understand why you don't like the numbness, but it's better than the alternative."

"Which is?"

"Pain."

At the sound of that word, Dante laughed bitterly. He
laughed
. It didn't feel good, but he did it anyway. "A little pain never hurt anybody."

A soft smile played on the nurse's lips. "You seem to be accustomed to it."

Instinctively, Dante's hand drifted to his chest, the flimsy hospital gown covering the scars from his burns. He didn't make a habit of showing them off to people, but he knew the nurse had seen them. Everyone there probably had.

He evaded mentioning it, brushing off her assumption. Pain, he was used to, but the numbness had to go. "So, what do I have to do to get out of this place? Pay someone? Sign something? Petition a fucking court?"

This time, the nurse laughed. There was no humor in it, either. "Get out of here? I don't think you understand the severity of your injuries."

"Oh, I understand," he said. "I was there when it happened."

Before she could react, another voice cut through the room. "And what, exactly, would
'it'
be, Mr. Galante?"

The sound was like sharp claws ripping away at Dante's calm. He knew that nagging voice, the grating, mousy tone, the sarcastic edge that screamed
'look at me, I'm an asshole
!' His gaze turned to the doorway, to man clad in a cheap gray suit. He was a small guy, five and a half feet, a hundred pounds soaking wet, middle-aged with deep red hair and a thick moustache covering his lip. The guy, this squeaky little son of a bitch, reminded Dante of a hamster.

Practically a fucking rat, as it was.

Detective Bryan Tracey, with NYPD's Organized Crime Investigations Division.
Detective Dick
.

They'd had their fair share of run-ins over the years, a few useless conversations, where the detective hammered him with questions that he knew damn well Dante had no intention of answering.

Nurse Russo mumbled, "I can give you some privacy."

"Don't bother," Dante said. "I have nothing to say to him."

"It's fine," the detective said. "Continue what you were doing."

The nurse hesitated before going back to her work.

Detective Tracey lingered near the doorway, not coming any closer. "I've got to say, Galante, I honestly thought I'd never see you again."

"Hate to disappoint."

"Ah, I'd hardly say I'm disappointed," the detective said. "Multiple broken ribs, lacerated spleen, punctured lung, bruised kidney... not to mention the stab wounds. They say you were beaten from head-to-toe, severely dehydrated, practically
starved
. So instead of disappointed, let's go with surprised… surprised you're alive when someone wanted you dead."

"They wanted me to suffer," Dante corrected him. "There's a difference."

"Is there?"

Dante didn't humor him with a response to that question.
Of course
there was a difference. Sometimes surviving was the worst thing that could happen to someone.

The detective strolled closer. "Who did this to you?"

"I don't know."

"Where'd they keep you?"

"I don't know."

"Why'd they do it?"

"I don't know."

"Cut the bullshit, Galante… just tell me the truth."

Dante remained silent.

That was his right, after all.

"Look, I know what you're thinking, but this isn't the time for it," the detective continued. "You can't go back out onto those streets looking for revenge. I'm not a fool. I can make an educated guess about who's to blame, and I know you'll want them to pay for it. But at some point you have to break the cycle, and I suggest you do it now, before it's too late."

"It's already too late."

"So that's how this is going to be?"

"That's how it's always been."

The man glared, although he didn't appear surprised. He'd been playing the game longer than Dante. He knew the rules. He knew how things went.

"If this is how you want to play it, so be it, but mark my words: this war is 
over
. Enough people have been hurt. Too many lives have been lost. So I suggest you take a step back and let me do my job, or you just might go down also. You got me, Galante?"

"I got you, Detective, but get me," Dante said. "I've spent my entire life protecting certain people, and no
threat
from you is going to stop me from doing that."

His expression shifted, the smugness he'd walked in wearing fading. The man had a family, a wife and a daughter, so maybe he knew all about protecting the ones he loved. But he didn't know what it was like to lose them. He didn't know what it was like to give your all but still
fail
.

"It wasn't a threat. It was a warning. Don't get in my way." The detective turned to walk out but paused in the doorway. "I'm sure your father's elated about your survival. Must have been torture, not knowing. I'm hoping we get to bring the Barsanti family the same kind of news, but so far it hasn't happened."

The detective walked out, leaving behind an unsettling tension that coated Dante's skin. He felt eyes on him, a curious gaze. He glanced at the nurse, seeing a flicker of something in her eyes.

Concern
.

"What happened to you?" she whispered.

He stared at her as a strange sensation stirred inside of him, compelling him to tell her, to confide in her, but he shook it off before any of the truth spilled from his lips.

"It doesn't matter what happened," he said. "What matters is that I survived it."

She didn't press the issue, pushing some buttons on some machines, before stepping away. Pausing beside the bed, she looked down at him. "Some advice, Mr. Galante?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"This is their game here, not yours… meaning while you're playing, they make the rules," she said. "So you've got two options: either you play along or you forfeit. Because standing on the field, trying to make up your own rules, won't work for anybody."

She smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, before walking out of the room, leaving him to his isolating peace.

* * *

W
hen Genna awoke
on the grubby couch, bright sunlight streamed through the nearby windows, the glare blinding.
Holy shit
. Squinting, she pulled herself up to a sit, shielding her eyes. No curtains. No blinds. Who the hell lived in the desert and didn't block out the sunlight?

Masochists. That's who
.

Her entire body ached, spots of her sore from the springs poking her all night long. Grimacing, she looked around, realizing she was alone.

"Matty?" she called out, her voice loud in the old house, bouncing off the vacant walls.

No answer.

In the light, the house appeared ransacked. Nails stuck out of the walls where pictures used to hang, broken frames sitting around, a layer of grime coating everything. Reaching over to the end table, she picked up a small picture frame than had been face down. The glass was smashed, inside of it a faded photograph—a man, a woman, and two kids: a boy and girl.
Twins
?

"It's like
The Shining
up in here," she muttered, standing up and stretching, before setting the frame back down. She strolled through the downstairs, peeking into the same rooms she'd seen the night before. There was no sign of Matty, so she headed for the stairs, skimming her hand along the thick banister. The wood was rough, and she jerked her hand back when a massive splinter jabbed her, stabbing right into her skin.

Groaning, she yanked it out, keeping her hands to herself as she made the trek upstairs, the wooden steps squeaking beneath her. The second floor was even more eerie, ruts dug all along the floor leading down the hallway. She peeked in rooms as she went, finding a master bedroom with the bed frame still set up, the mattress half-pulled off of it, annihilated like someone had torn into it, ripping it apart. The rest of the room was intact, empty wine bottles scattered all around the floor.

"Oh-kayy," she mumbled as she moved on, heading further down the hall. She encountered a girl's bedroom next, judging by the belongings still hanging in the closet, old makeup scattered along a small vanity. Right across the hall, she opened another door, knowing right away it had belonged to the boy. An old comforter lay on the small bed, the logo faded but still obvious.
Batman
. Chicago Cubs memorabilia was scattered throughout the room, a small bookcase along the side of the room with old children's books stacked up on it. Genna stepped over to it, scanning the titles before pulling one out.
Where the Wild Things Are
. The copy was old and faded, the pages yellowing, the binding loose, but it held together when she opened it.

"What are you doing?" Matty's voice called out from the doorway behind her. Genna turned, seeing him standing there in nothing but jeans, sweat pouring down his bare chest, making his tattoos gleam in the sprawling sunlight, his tanned skin already sun-kissed, a hint of pink to it. He was filthy.

"Being nosey," she admitted, holding up the book. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to get the air conditioner running," he said, stepping into the room, his brow furrowing at the Batman comforter. He didn't comment on it, though. "There's a piece broken, so I'll need to find a store before I can fix it."

"Hate to break it to you, Matty, but A.C. requires electricity."

Matty stared at her as he reached over beside him, flicking the switch on the wall. The overhead light came on, flickering, before going right back out with a loud pop. Genna flinched, as Matty glowered at it. "Probably should grab some new light bulbs, too."

"You got the power turned on? How?"

He shrugged the question off. "Got the water running, too."

Genna stared at him, eyes wide. "No shit?"

"No shit."

"Oh God, does that mean I can take a bath?"

"Well…" He hesitated. "The hot water heater is busted, but otherwise…"

Genna launched herself right at him, wrapping her arms around him. He laughed, nearly falling, and hugged her back. Nuzzling into his neck, Genna inhaled the scent of him, oddly comforted by the stale odor of dirt and sweat.
Okay, that's totally gross
. But he'd been hard at work while she'd been asleep, busting his ass, trying to make things okay like he's said they'd be.

Tears stung her eyes, tears she couldn't hold back, as emotion consumed her. He was so good.
So, so good
. A Barsanti boy, one of the ones she'd been raised to see as the enemy, was doing everything in his power to make the world okay for her. Despite trying to swallow it back, she let out a sob, holding him as the tears fell.

"Whoa," he said, rubbing her back. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she cried. "Nothing's wrong."

"Come on, Genna, baby, don't lie to me." He pulled back to look at her. "Why are you crying? Tell me."

"I just…" Her voice cracked. "I love you
so much
."

Confusion took over Matty's expression before a smile touched his lips. Pulling her back to him, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. "You're pretty okay yourself, you know… for a Galante."

All at once, the spell was broken. Genna let out a sharp laugh as she pushed him, the last few wayward tears streaming down her cheeks as she rolled her eyes. "Okay,
Barsanti
."

He stared at her. "Guess that's not us anymore, huh?"

"It'll always be us… just nobody will know."

Jen Gallivant
. That was her name on the fake documents Matty had gotten, while his said
Matthew Barton
. Close enough to their real names for them to remember but a big enough difference that nobody would make the connection. Genna
hated
it. She hated everything about it. As much as she'd once despised him being a Barsanti, that was who she'd given her heart to. Matthew Barton was a fraud.